


To Dare and Ensnare

by CRMediaGal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Dare, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CRMediaGal/pseuds/CRMediaGal
Summary: Hermione is challenged to a dare. Can she fulfil it without getting hexed first? Prompt for the 1,000th review of Unquestionable Love: The Prequel on fanfiction.net. One-shot, OotP era.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	To Dare and Ensnare

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes : _Originally posted at fanfiction.net in October 2012._**
> 
> **In case anyone cares for context, this one-shot was written in response to the 1,000th review of _[Unquestionable Love: The Prequel](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8101373/1/Unquestionable-Love-The-Prequel)_ on fanfiction.net, which was captured by two reviewers, and the prompt came from CutieAnimeGirl19. She requested a Hogwarts era one-shot in which Hermione is dared to kiss Severus. I admittedly struggled to write something without a ton of back story but...I managed. *shrug***
> 
> **If you care to read more from me, please check out[www.crmediagal.com](http://www.crmediagal.com/).**
> 
> **Disclaimer : _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox.**

* * *

_**To Dare and Ensnare** _

**By CRMediaGal**

* * *

_This is utterly ridiculous!_ Hermione huffed to herself as she cautiously made her way down a chilly, darkened corridor of Hogwarts castle, an assortment of frizzy curls thrashing against her face. _What on earth are you thinking? You should turn around now, Hermione. Why in the bloomin' hell would you let those immature prats rope you into something like this?_

As if she required validation for turning on her heel and marching straight back to Gryffindor Tower like a sensible Fifth Year, mostly to tell Harry, Ron and Ginny off for this childish game they had concocted, a strong-willed Hermione resisted temptation and marched ahead. She _should_ have informed her mates that she had—and very rightly so—changed her mind about this absurd dare of theirs; or _Ron's_ , more specifically.

Still, she refused to set course in the opposite direction of where her legs were carrying her. _Foolish chit.  
_

It was bonking mad. Without question. The type of reckless behavior she might expect from a much younger student (and a daft idiot at that). Certainly not from herself. Such witless schemes were beneath bright levelheadedness, after all. They insulted her intelligence and brought her down to the emotional level of, perhaps, a First Year; a giggling, foolhardy girl who leapt at any opportunity to do something irrevocably stupid _just_ to prove to the boy she crushed on that he was wrong; that she, in fact, _had_ that Gryffindor stamina that their House so prided itself on.

_Then why are you even toying with doing this? Why does his reaction matter?_

Hermione released a pent-up sigh. "Because I'm _not_ going to let Ronald ruddy Weasley make an arse out of me, that's what!" she vowed to no one present.

Her conscious challenged that stubborn streak. _Aren't you about to do that all on your own, though?_

Hermione rolled her eyes and spat aloud, "Oh, do shut up!"

The deeper she descended a set of stairs towards the dungeons, however, the more her mind began to spin. _Imagine the man's face... Those eerie, dark eyes... That sinister look he'll give you... If you actually get close enough to pull this off, mind you..._

The picture that conjured in Hermione's overwrought brain was enough to suspend her legs from venturing another step, and yet, she found herself blushing when her consumed thoughts focused on the wizard in question—the one with that 'sinister look' about him—who had the capacity to make one's blood run cold and, at the same time, bring a scarlet flush to one's cheeks. Well, _Hermione Granger_ 's anyway. Why was that?

A sheepish Hermione pressed on. She had never told anyone—not even Ginny—that she had developed a bit of an infatuation with their professor, and she intended to keep that secret sealed.

 _Misplaced feelings_ , she had misbottled it as, trying not to interpret much more than surface level on _that_ score. She couldn't possibly be the only student, could she? At least, that's how Hermione comforted herself at night whilst curled up in bed and reflecting upon the strapping lad her age with ginger locks and a goofy grin as compared to the brooding, black-haired, older gentleman whom most despised and feared in equal measures.

No one would believe her if they knew: a crush on a professor and not just any professor but... _him_? The surly, horribly unpleasant thirty-something cad with the too pallid complexion and what many considered to be "menacing" eyes? In all her years at Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't detect a tint of chocolate or charcoal grey in them. No, they were as stark as the Black Lake.

 _Such a...handsome colour_. She was strangely drawn to them, like a curious moth to a seemingly harmless flame that, once touched, burnt that moth to a crisp.

His long hair, too, enhanced his striking features and stand-offish nature. His snarkiness was most complex, for it was enough to off adults _and_ children alike, and most distinctive of this professor's facets was his unnaturally large, hooked nose. Some would say it devoured his face; that it was nothing short of "beastly", as her freckled friend, Ron, often pegged with an amused grin during Potions class.

 _But what was so terribly unsightly about it, really?_ Hermione wondered.

It gave the man a certain charm and distinction unlike anyone else she had ever come across. It was the source of relentless teasing from her Gryffindor peers, however, including her closest mates, and it was only in recent months that the incessant, mean-spirited quips had begun to nettle her. Hermione understood that some of the teasing was a direct result of the professor's known nasty attitude and not based upon looks alone, but she was also fairly certain that he would have received those catty whispers about his "greasy hair" and "ugly snout" regardless, even if he _was_ a more pleasant fellow.

There was also another stinging factor: _He hates you_.

Hermione had never quite figured out what she had done in her past life to be on the receiving end of her professor's near daily wrath, and those incidents were unhinging enough to make even the bravest Gryffindors cower. The wizard could be downright cruel with his words, shrinking a student's confidence to a mere speck of dust with an icy glare or a curl of his upper lip. Hermione was accustomed to such behaviour by now, having been branded ages ago by him as "an insufferable know-it-all", who possessed "no knowledge outside of a textbook"; but such reactions stung, nonetheless.

Thus, why should she be drawn to such a disagreeable person? Why should she be remotely attracted to someone who insulted her and her friends at every turn?

Hermione hadn't worked out an answer to _those_ loaded questions, but any time she found her mind innocently pondering her dramatic, bitter Potions professor, Hermione was forced to remind herself as to who she should _really_ be focused on: Ronald Weasley. _He's the whole bloomin' reason you're entertaining this madness in the first place...right?_

Hermione halted at the bottom of the stone stairs, lingering in the darkness of the stairwell and unfazed by how still and quiet the atmosphere had gone. Most students were tucked away in their dormitories, cramming for exams or completing complicated homework assignments. The fact that Hermione Granger wasn't amongst them was ironic, but she was already three steps ahead of her peers in her studies anyhow, so a brisk walk to the Potions classroom wasn't going to lower her grade level. Perhaps.

 _Is that what you're now chalking this up to?_ her mind snorted. _A 'walk'? Turn around, Hermione. Now. There's no way you're going to get away with this._

Hermione was grateful she hadn't informed Ron, Harry, or Ginny of her intent on visiting the dungeons this evening. They would have goaded her on and gotten her more riled up than her nerves had already been tested.

The freshly timid witch inhaled an unsteady breath and strolled to the classroom feet from the stairs, the spot where she would undoubtedly find _him._ He ought not to be surprised to see her, after all, for Hermione Granger was a stickler for nagging the professor about extra credit. He colourfully termed her frequent visitations as "unwanted", unaware that that extra credit wasn't the only reason Hermione Granger kept showing up to his lair on the ground floor week after week.

The heavy oak door to the Potions laboratory was ajar, so Hermione braved a stepped in front of it, thereby blocking the doorway, and was met by a gust of frigid air that, as a Fifth Year, was customary. Perhaps the cold also came on account of the intimidating figure who occupied this part of the castle.

Hermione immediately spotted him. Severus Snape, Professor of Potions and Head of Slytherin House, sat rigidly at a podium desk at the far side of the room, scrawling furiously on a piece of parchment in glaring red ink. He didn't so much as peer over at Hermione but, somehow, as if by some magical instinct she someday hoped to possess, he sensed her presence before she could so much as part her lips.

"Is there something you want, Miss Granger, or do you intend to lurk in the doorway like some mindless student on their first day?" his biting, yet smooth baritone reverberated across the silent space dividing them, causing Hermione to jerk and step back before she could find her voice, now smaller and less confident than moments earlier.

"I - I'm sorry, sir," she breathed nervously.

"Your apology is an afterthought, Granger. Therefore, I will repeat what I just asked you not five seconds ago: _what do you want_? As you can see, I'm quite busy."

Hermione swallowed her fears and entered the laboratory. Severus Snape may have been her instructor going on some five years, but familiarity hardly made him any less nerve-wracking to approach. His mood swings, always unpredictable, tended to veer towards ill-tempered most of the time, especially when it came to pesty Gryffindors like herself.

 _What the hell are you thinking?_ her conscience was practically screaming at her now. _You're going to earn yourself a month's-worth of detention for this foolishness. Turn around, would you?  
_

Alas, Hermione's shaky legs slid forward in ghastly defiance to the screeching flairs flying about in her overactive brain. By the time she had ceased walking, she was halfway across the room, clutching a thick textbook to her chest and Severus Snape had rotated his head sideways to stare at her long and hard, his eyes glistening against the faint candlelight. Hermione hoped that it was due to looming apprehensions that he appeared to be in testier spirits this evening.

"I... Um..." Hermione stuttered, her mouth having gone dry under Snape's intense scrutiny, though all he had done was look directly at her.

"Spit it out, Granger," he hissed lowly. A few straggly hairs dangled in his eyes, offsetting that strangely attractive, protruding nose of his. "I haven't got all night."

"I... Erm, I wanted to try my hand at a concoction of Felix Felicis for extra credit, sir. I know you said I can't earn anymore points—"

"No, Granger," he snarled, sounding thoroughly irritated with the thought. "You've already done six extra credit assignments since the start of term."

"I - I know, Professor, but—"

"You've been badgering me nonstop about extra credit since you first stepped into this wretched school," he accused, exercising a scathing air. "I see no reason why I should offer you continued opportunities to expound what you've merely acquired through textbooks and unabating trips to the library. You have satisfactory marks as it is, Granger. I suggest you leave well enough alone and be off. I can no longer be bothered with your persistent interruptions to my non-class time."

Hermione flinched, bit into her lower lip, and sought the inner lioness courage not to flee. "I understand, sir. I just—"

"If you 'understand'," Snape interrupted, "then you seem to have comprehended very little as to what I've just said." The rest of his lower body fully turned itself towards her as well, giving Hermione a dramatic view of his sweeping, black cloak that dragged upon the stone floor and his fitted frock coat, with an excessive assortment of buttons that trailed from his neck to his waistline.

"Sir, _please_ ," she beseeched, "I'd really welcome the challenge to give it a try is all. If you don't want to reward me points for the assignment, I'll understand—"

"Still as insufferable a know-it-all as ever," he blasted over her in that even, acidic tone of voice, leaving Hermione winded where she stood. "A contemptible gesture to wish to flaunt your skills, I see? It will certainly _not_ earn you my respect, Granger. I would have thought you'd have accumulated that knowledge by now."

"I'm not after your respect, sir," she rebutted, cheeks reddening at the repeated slights to her intelligence; they weren't unexpected but that didn't make them any less infuriating. "I just want to try the assignment is all."

"To prove that you can outwit your fellow Fifth Years at a Sixth-Year level potion?"

"No." Hermione willed herself to remain calm, hoping Snape wasn't about to deduct points for her determination. "To challenge myself."

"You've already insinuated as much, Granger."

Seeming to read the pleas in her wide, brown eyes, Snape willed himself not to argue the matter further by releasing a defeated-like sigh that Hermione hoped would be to her advantage. She _was_ a capable potion-maker—an exceptional example, in fact (not that she would ever afford the luxury of hearing _that_ from the professor's lips)—and could be trusted to handle a four-hour brewing session quietly, allowing him to focus on his workload without any interference. Her ability to persistently run her mouth, though, was undoubtedly a gamble, for there were times over the course of term that the fiesty-prone witch acted quieter than quiet as she brewed extra credit assignments in his classroom at night and, at other opportunities, she tried—horrifically, rather—to make small talk.

Still, he had no fundamental right for refusing her wish to try, did he? He may not have liked her much, but that wasn't enough of an excuse to refuse a student the chance to earn extra points; or, in this case, give their ego a boost.

"Very well," he spat through clenched teeth, sounding fatigued but resigned. "If you can make yourself scarce and keep your mouth shut, Granger, I'll allow you to try the assignment. Make no mistake, though: you will _not_ earn extra points for your efforts this evening. Is that clear?"

Hermione perked up. "Yes, Professor."

"Then I suggest you get started. I shan't allow you to stay a minute past the four-hour mark. Not a second more."

Hermione leapt forward with her underlying scheme, breathing a sigh of relief. _So far, so good_. She hurried to place her belongings aside and grab the necessary ingredients she would require for her potion. _How the hell are you even going to get close enough to try?_

After spreading her utensils across a desk in the fourth row, knowing Snape's body language meant it about seeking distance between them, Hermione unconsciously bit her lip again and mulled over her dilemma. _You can't back out now, you know. Ron will have a go at you if you do, and so will Harry and Ginny. You'll never hear the end of it._

_But it's so preposterous!_

_So, why did you agree?_

_Because I... I was dared to! And I don't back down from a bloomin' challenge! I'm no coward!  
_

_Come now, Hermione. Is that the_ only _reason?_

Hermione's eyebrows came together, flustered. _Because I want Ron to notice me and...and I want to see the impressed look on his face when I prove him wrong; when he learns that I rose to the challenge and actually met his dare._

 _That's not_ all _of it, though, Hermione, and you ruddy well know it._

_And because I like him, all right?_

_And?_

_And..._

_Admit it: you've always been curious what Professor Snape's lips might taste like..._

Flushing scarlet on the spot, Hermione chanced a glance at Snape from across the room. He was still hunched over his pile of essays and grading vigorously with his feathered quill, unbothered. His hand was moving at a rapid pace, encouraging Hermione's eyes to roam from his elegant, piano-shaped fingers to his unmistakable profile—those unusually lush eyelashes, flared nostrils, and scary scowl of contentment for whichever unfortunate soul had just earned themselves low marks—and her eyes lingered lastly upon what her sordid mind had just mused over: his mouth; that thin trail of pink skin, with an overly curvaceous cupid's bow that Hermione inadvertently wanted to suck.

Hermione turned redder still in the face and scrambled to get started on her Felix Felicis potions. _It'll be just the sort of miracle I'll need if I have a prayer of pulling this off..._

Three and a half hours later and Hermione was actively caught in a whirlpool of her own work. She was agitated with how poorly her efforts were panning out, however. It was a difficult potion to master, but her haughty conscience had thought she might fare better than things were progressing. If her dishevelled appearance was anything to go by then things weren't looking encouraging: her curls, already wild and unruly, had frizzed to twice their size, the heat from her cauldron, as well as her growing vexations, left beads of sweat stuck to her forehead, and her entire face was flushed, her expression one of utmost frustration.

Scanning the instruction manual from her Potions text for probably the one hundredth time, Hermione pouted and stomped her foot. _Bugger all! Not only is this a disaster, but I won't be able to slip myself any to pull this off with any twinge of success! Damn it!_

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Snape had been eying her sidelong for much of the past hour, watching the bright witch's aggravations—and hair—build over the course of time. Perhaps another instructor would have taken pity on her, but not Severus Snape. No one earned his affinities, if they even suspected him of possessing any, or a gentle pat on the back.

 _Foolish, headstrong girl_ , his mouth practically snorted in her direction. He shook his head at the steady blunders Hermione was making, though unawares, refusing to point them out as they happened.

"Granger, moping like a child won't solve anything," he finally grated to her, causing Hermione to yelp where she was hovering over her cauldron. She had gotten so engrossed in what she was doing that she had nearly forgotten the professor's prying eyes, ignorant of the dare she had yet to fulfil.

"I'm not moping," she grumbled and whipped a few crimped curls out of her sight.

"Yes, you _are_ , and your incessant whining is disrupting my concentration. Do desist."

Hermione sighed away the urge to snap. "Yes, Professor," she grudgingly acknowledged, refocusing on the ruined concoction formulating in front of her.

How in Merlin and Circe was she going to salvage this? She hadn't a clue where she had gone wrong, for starters, as she had followed the directions in the book to perfection. Why wasn't the liquid turning a molten gold?

Hermione's mouth slumped into a frown. She scratched her head with her stirring rod, inadvertently moping as she set to reading over her textbook yet again in the hopes of catching some minuscule detail she might have missed. The hard slamming of a book spooked her reading efforts, though. Hermione startled when she peered up moments later to find the professor stomping towards her, his cloak flaring behind him and corresponding with the positively infuriated sneer that now marked his face. Hermione gulped and tried to recoil but there was nowhere to go except into her chair. She soon found Snape towering over her, his large shadow engulfing her in its wake. His neck was sharply bent and those unsettling, obsidian irises were locked on hers.

"What have you done wrong, Granger?"

It was a simple question, really. Hermione blinked hard, her breath catching at the back of her throat. "I...?"

"You've looked over that ruddy textbook of yours at least a dozen times. Are you familiar with the expression that 'only ignorant dunderheads repeat the same motions over and over again, expecting a different result'?"

Hermione squirmed. "Erm..."

" _I'll take that as a no_ ," he snipped, and Hermione cringed at his lashing tongue.

"Yes, sir, I _have_ heard the expression before—"

"Then, pray, tell me _why_ you keep insisting on searching your book for the solution to your problem when it hasn't presented itself in the ninety-nine times you've read the instructions?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Well..."

"I prefer creative solutions over smarts this time, Granger. If you haven't found the solution at this juncture, it's time to start thinking outside of the box."

Hermione curled her nose. "Sir?"

" _Good god, Granger_!"

With a spine-inducing growl and another stomp forward, Snape snatched Hermione's stirring rod from her hand, and for the briefest moment, she felt the warm, calloused touch of his overworked fingers brushing along hers. She nearly made a noise but managed to contain herself.

Apparently not having noticed how Hermione's body went stone stiff at their brief bit of contact, Snape stirred the contents at a much steadier pace than she had, studying her potion with a fixed concentration that came from years of expertise in the field. Hermione dared to inch closer and caught a whiff of Snape's rather pleasant scent: fresh grass, leather-bound books, and a hint of musk.

_Oh. Nice..._

"You didn't crush the leaves, Granger," he said after a handful of seconds passed in awkward silence.

Hermione was trumped as to how speedily he had sorted out the problem. "I'm sorry?" she asked, astonished.

Snape tilted his head down at her, an affronted air tainting his critical expression. "You're in an unusual mood of needing everything repeated to you twice tonight, Granger. Now, why is that?"

"Sorry, sir." Hermione tried not to narrow her eyes at him. "The instructions in the textbook said to cut the leaves into three slices each, not crush them."

"Of course they did."

"Pardon?" Hermione had to avert her gaze when Snape shot her a heightened glare of annoyance. "Sorry, Professor, I... I just don't understand?"

" _Quite_."

Hermione sucked in a breath to force patience, though Snape didn't answer her straightaway but, firstly, extinguished the contents of her cauldron. Then he began the instructions anew whilst Hermione watched, humiliated. Had she been attempting actual extra credit, she would have surely received none. Snape was redoing her potion before her eyes at such a remarkable speed that left her both glum and, also, gaping in awe.

"Close your mouth, Granger, and pay attention," came his assertive command, to which she, at once, obeyed. She hadn't even realised that she had moved closer to him, craning her neck to see around the wizard's elbow as he tirelessly worked, intrigued with how he was managing to re-brew the potion so effortlessly and at such a fast rate whilst maintaining precision the whole while.

After scooping a handful of leaves left from her first attempt into his fist, Snape extended his arm and crushed them into the cauldron. "But...the instructions _do_ say to cut, Professor?" she reiterated, perplexed.

"If you take everything you read in a textbook as a literal translation of correctness, Granger, you will fail at more than just potions."

Hermione reared back. That sounded like life advice and coming from Professor Snape, it was certainly astonishing...if it was true.

"Well... I..."

"Even in following instructions, you may find you need to alter the methods to suit them more efficiently, though that scale may be marginal. Adapt. Tweak. _That_ is what potion-making is, Granger; or have you not paid attention all this time?"

"No, sir," Hermione whispered, "I understand."

Snape grunted, "Belatedly, no doubt."

As he continued to work, pointing out a couple more mistakes Hermione had made along the way, and all in his usual caustic brand of instruction, Hermione was ready to sink beneath her desk and wallow. At the end of the lesson, her lower lip was trembling despite her best efforts to keep herself from showcasing emotion. She knew that Snape was the last individual in all of Wizarding Great Britain who would appreciate her tears. If anything, he would chastise her for being weak.

"Granger."

_It was just a silly dare, Hermione. You knew that. Enough already—_

" _Granger_!"

Hermione stood at attention, determined to conceal her want to break down and cry. She had zoned out on the professor for a moment or two and hadn't heard his address. As a result, his face looked beyond furious, his nose scrunched unpleasantly and his mouth tight as a whip as he glared down at her.

"What did I just instruct you to do?" he demanded, lowering himself into her personal space so that she could have counted every eyelash of his. Those frosty, unforgiving irises were enough to crumble her resolve, too.

Hermione drew a shaky breath and began to whimper. She didn't answer his question; she couldn't. Rather, she threw caution to the wind, brought her hands to her face to hide her tears, and muffled the cries that were desperate to pour out. She vaguely heard Snape's repeated demands that she, "Desist," and "Stop crying this instant," but didn't adhere to his wishes.

Hermione felt utterly abash for letting her emotions get the better of her in that moment, especially in front of _him_ , but she could no longer contain herself. She was spent with her friends' badgering that she "was too much of a 'good girl'" to rise to challenges and was most disappointed in herself for proving such an academic failure at Potions—at least, with this particular brew. There was also the underlying confusion over her undetermined feelings that had merely bubbled and manifested tenfold in the professor's presence.

"Granger, _enough_." There was a twinge of desperation to Snape's order this time.

Hermione peeked from behind her hands to survey a mixed expression of horror and irritation from the professor. His eyes flashed peculiarly, enough so that, at last, she ceased snivelling and rested her gaze upon them.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled and wiped at her tears. "I'm listening."

"No, you aren't," he insisted, though his tone was far less severe than she expected; he actually sounded reassuring. "I think you've received enough instruction for tonight."

"Wha...? No, please. I..."

Hermione darted forward take the stirring rod from Snape's hand, not even sure why she was insisting now on carrying on when she had just acted an emotional wreck, and her attempt to take control of the situation backfired. Snape, without warning, clamped down on her wrist to prevent her from taking the stirring rod off of his person. Hermione started and instantly froze where she stood.

" _No_ ," he argued, intense eyes locked on her.

"But..." Hermione swallowed. "Ca - Can't I try again?"

"Granger—"

Hermione's small frame suddenly leaned in. Snape blinked, his shock understated and undetected. He couldn't seem to understand why she was gravitating closer. Aware that he held a firm grip on her arm, Snape clumsily removed his hand, but Hermione didn't recoil as well. To the man's bewilderment, she took another step nearer.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," she confounded him with a hushed apology, as if she had personally offended him in some way by expressing tears. "I... I don't know why I broke down like that. I'm so embarrassed. I guess I just...wanted your approval."

"You _always_ want to exceed everyone else, Granger," he tried to issue snidely, but his cheeks were notably crimson, perhaps on account of her unwavering stare and too close proximity; it would seem that he wasn't used to being gazed at. People mostly avoided eye contact with him, after all, so why wouldn't she? "It's a most irksome quality in you," he added, his voice slightly off kilter.

Snape appeared surprised when Hermione had the gall to smile at his insult—her mouth soft and delicate—before she flicked away the remainder of her tears. She eyed him puckishly, her allure seductive; or was that her wild imagination based upon Snape's solidifying body language?

"I know, Professor," she stated under her breath. "I like Potions, you know. Very much so. I thought... Well, I thought I could handle this one, but you're right: I _do_ need to start getting more creative, don't I?"

Snape was rendered speechless. It was a rarity that a student, particularly a Gryffindor, took his criticism to heart and, in this case, actually minded what he said. He placed his hands behind his back and made to scowl, but unless Hermione was gravely mistaken, the measured look he bore implied that he was impressed, not turned off. 

"Then I suggest you take note of your mistakes and learn from them, Granger."

Hermione nodded. "I will, sir. I promise."

Snape gestured towards the various ingredients and utensils on her desk with a toss of his head. "Then clean up your station. You may go."

"Oh! But..."

"It's late, Granger. You've been here for over four hours."

Hermione may have lost track of the time, but she hadn't lost sight of her aim nor the professor's magnetic eyes. She hadn't been able to turn away from them since they had locked gazes minutes ago. Snape grew increasingly uneasy with her persistent staring, though, and soon enough, he was curling his upper lip to warn her off.

"Granger," he started but was interrupted by her small whisper.

"Your eyes really _are_ black..."

He flinched, taken aback by that remark. "I beg your pardon?"

"I always assumed they were a chocolate brown," she murmured, as though in her own dreamy world, "that they just somehow looked black because of your hair and your robes; but, wow, they really _are_ so..."

"How observant of you," he practically hiccuped, befuddled the longer this bizarre exchange ensued. "Now, Granger, I have already asked you once to clean up your area and leave. Do you need to be told twice—"

"No, I was just commenting on your eyes, sir. I... I've never known anyone to have black eyes before."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" he insinuated, sounding freshly nettled.

Instead of backing away, Hermione blushed at him. "They're unique is all."

Snape's expression schooled itself into tight control, but Hermione was sure he had been affected by her comments. "Granger," he snarled.

_Now, Hermione. Now.  
_

"I have work to do."

_Do it! You know you've wanted to...  
_

The professor snapped to attention and turned on his heel, intending to return to his desk, but Hermione's hand boldly tugged on his right arm to stop him in his tracks. He whipped his head towards her, looking properly infuriated, and, perhaps, if Hermione thought she had detected correctly, a little frightened by the mere brush of her hand against his.

_Now, Hermione. Now!_

" _What, Granger_?" Snape hissed at her, any fraction of patience left having fled his face.

_Do it!_

"Are you daft, girl? For Merlin's sake, _what is it_?"

_DO IT!_

With her heart beating wildly against her chest, Hermione gulped and stumbled forward. She reached onto her tiptoes, brought herself upward to meet Snape's face, and witnessed his animated flash of panic, his unsuccessful attempt to dodge her advance by staggering backward unsuccessful, and his slightly parted lips crashed into hers. Hermione planted a firm kiss on those desired lips and gently pressed into them in the split second that he didn't recede. She was both shocked and taken by how cushioned they felt, warm, supple and if she dared to believe, delectable.

A fluttering tingle stretched from Hermione's toes to her legs to her womanhood. Her heart was ready to pounce, too, once her mind abruptly caught up with the act. In a flash, Hermione withdrew, tumbling out of Snape's reach and making sure to put a wedge between them.

An alarmed Severus Snape stood in front of her and, at first, he couldn't withhold his surprise. It was well-established that no one touched him or forced themselves upon him in way, shape, or form. No one ever got close enough to try, really, and certainly, no one— _ever_ —kissed him.

"Granger," he said, his voice dripping with either suppressed fury or thrill. Hermione couldn't decide which, but she took note of how his hands were clenched at his sides.

"I'm sorry, sir," she squeaked, her cheeks on fire; she couldn't believe she had pulled it off. "I - I just wanted to thank you for your instruction is all. It was..."

" _What do you think you're doing_?"

Hermione's mouth was left parched by his low, deep register. It wasn't a shout but strained, and the danger was evident; it bordered on loss of control. If steam could have blown out of Snape's ears, Hermione reckoned that it surely would have at that moment.

 _You should've known you wouldn't get away with this,_ her mind hollered, panic setting in and causing her to breathe faster.

"I... I just..."

" _Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again._ "

"I was only—"

" _Get out of here, Granger,_ " Snape finally exclaimed, his temper flaring like a lit match.

The dark look about him stirred Hermione into action. She scurried to gather her belongings and unintentionally brushed shoulders with Snape as she rushed out of his laboratory, barely able to keep her chin from meeting the stone floor as she ran like her life depended on it. Her eardrums were pounding, her heart was drumming against the walls of her chest, and she was absolutely sure that what she had just accomplished was, without a doubt, _the most reckless, senseless, brainless, most pleasurable thing!_ she had ever accomplished in her short life.

Hermione didn't stop running until she reached Gryffindor Tower. She didn't berate herself or cry or shake as she surely _should_ have been doing either but, instead, she beamed from ear to ear. There was an unmistakable glow about her that had nothing to do with the exercise of sprinting all the way from the dungeons to the Gryffindor Common Room.

 _I did it! I... I kissed him! And it was... Oh, it was splendid._ She stopped before the Fat Lady to sputter the password, her cheeky smile extending. _Worth a month's detention, I'd wager._

"Oh, Ron!" she bated her friend upon entering. She found her two mates sprawled by the fireplace and struggling through their latest Charms assignment. "Guess what? You owe me five galleons! Actually, scratch that. You owe me ten!"

* * *


End file.
